You
by Stephane Richer
Summary: ::Ryuuken/Katagiri:: there's always something in the way there's always something getting through but it's not me it's you


You

Disclaimer: I don't own Tite Kubo's _Bleach _or Switchfoot's "You".

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He's been unhappy for the longest time. His whole life, maybe, or at least as far as he can remember, the weight of expectations due to his blood, due to being the eldest son, the only child, the heir. His teachers labelled him "the smart one" and he always made sure he was at the top of the class. There's always been a chip on his shoulder; even when he's got nothing he's got something to prove.

Still, he's got her. She listens when he rants, when he explodes, when he needs someone. She's always there, but never intrusive.

She is the missing part of him, and one day it hits him like a hollow jumping on his chest. He is deeply in love with her, more than he thought would be possible for anyone (let alone him) to feel. He certainly didn't feel like this toward Masaki. He was attracted to her, but they didn't really get along. They didn't get one another like this.

Ryuuken is not a simple man. There is nothing normal about him, and not very much that is straightforward. And Katagiri sees everything, sees past the fun house mirror facets and reaches his heart.

This is against everything he has ever known. His parents do not love him; his mother loves to criticize him. She does not even want him to fall in love, perhaps because she is resentful of her own situation. But analyzing her is always more trouble than it's worth.

The thing is, he doesn't quite know what to do about this newfound feeling. What they have is so precious; he doesn't want to fuck it up. He doesn't want to lose her. He tries to read her face, her body, her words, but he can't think when she's around. He can't tell if she loves him or if it's wishful thinking or if she's just not sure of her feelings. But he's quite sure of his own feelings. Every time he sees her, it's even more striking. She returns from the convenience store with a newspaper and a pack of cigarettes, rain dripping from her hair and making it shine, her eyelashes wet and glistening and her face refreshing. It's a flash flood, she tells him, clothes sticking to the contours of her small frame and he barely registers her words.

And she's sitting at the breakfast table, sun streaming through the window and momentarily blinding him as he enters the room and damn, she blinds him all over again when she smiles, a mug of coffee in her slim hand. His eyes trace over her fingers and delicate nails, perfectly manicured and straight. Her eyes are tired but unwavering and he can barely move.

And he gets home from class and her voice welcoming him home sounds like some kind of fanfare, and when she says his name it's a sonic wonderland and he wants to run over to her and take her in his arms but somehow he restrains himself, probably because she distracts him again just by standing up.

And he procrastinates and sighs and holds it all in and he doesn't see how much it hurts her.

For the first time ever, he is shutting her out of something, not revealing his thoughts and feelings and she is lost. She loves him more and more and he seems almost indifferent to her and she stays up late at night wondering what exactly it is she's done wrong.

So they wait and hope and wonder if this is all coming to a head and it doesn't. Time just goes, swinging on the pendulum, weeks and months pass and they stand on opposite sides of a cliff and don't know if they will be followed down by the other if one of them jumps.

But someone must make that leap and try to grab on to something. Or if they don't leap they must be pushed, and maybe someone pushes them. But something happens.

They're taking the train home from a shopping trip. People keep piling on, and they're squished together in the middle. It's muggy and hot in the car, and they feel one another's bodies pressed up against their own, and it's too much for both of them. Someone in the doorway shoves the people already inside in further, and she trips up against him. The people behind him break his fall and he breaks hers with his arms, and even though it's hot and disgusting and they've sweated through their clothes he can't let go.

When they reach their stop, he holds her hand as they wade through the other passengers toward the door and he doesn't release her hand and she clutches it tightly. When they get out, they stand on the platform and she slips back into his arms and it just feels so right, surpassing even Ryuuken's lofty expectations.

They don't have to say anything; they don't talk too much.

When they finally move, it's slow. He slings an arm around her; she places her hand around his waist and leans her head on his shoulder. They're too stubborn to admit that it's a bit uncomfortable to walk this way, but neither one of them can believe it's really happening and they need to touch one another to make sure it's real or make the most of it if it's actually a dream.

They get home and it's bags down, clothes off, skin on skin, and it's way too good to be a dream. This is real. The sweet smell of sweat on her skin, the rough stubble on his chin, the faint scar from childhood on her shoulder. It's all too vivid.


End file.
